


The Chance

by ds9trekkie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Almost Kiss, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst, Anxiety, Brotp Sam and Castiel, Cas-centric, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Depressed Castiel (Supernatural), Destiel - Freeform, Family, Hiatus, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, No Sex, One Shot, Pining, Sastiel friendship, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Team Free Will 2.0, Temper Tantrums, The Empty (Supernatural), The Shadow - Freeform, True Love, Winchester (Supernatural) Man Pain, happiness, lying, season 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ds9trekkie/pseuds/ds9trekkie
Summary: Castiel is lost to very dark, isolated place. Metaphorically for now, however it’s soon to become a reality. The angel feels angry more than anything, spiraling into a cycle of unhealthy behavior due to his new fate. Eventually reaching a breaking point, Sam is there to help and remind him why he can’t give up.





	The Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wayward_Daughter_16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Daughter_16/gifts).



> So this is a friggin’ _rant_ and obviously a little bit of guilty pleasure. But that’s what fanfic is for, right? Anyways, it’s set during season fourteen between episode eight and nine. I’m pretty angry with Castiel’s fate so therefore _Castiel_ is angry with his fate. Maybe I’m just jaded and bitter, but this feels like more of a real reaction than what the writers did to my poor angel.
> 
> P.S. I am in no way trying to imply that a person’s ultimate happiness should be dependent upon the fact of if they’re in a relationship with someone else or not. True happiness comes from within and being content with yourself, however this is fiction and I’m a hopeless romantic. Enjoy!!

It’s a very odd phenomenon to mourn your life prior to your own death. Castiel is no stranger to dying, but this new daunting fate he’s been sentenced to feels foreign, somehow much scarier than any of the other times. It’s twisted and calculated and heartbreakingly evil.

_’I want you to suffer. I want you to go back to your normal life and forget about this and forget about me. And then when you finally give yourself permission to be happy...and let the sun shine on your face, that’s when I’ll come. That’s when I’ll come drag you to nothing.’_

The Shadow’s words repeat on a loop inside his head. Castiel is finding that the struggle to control his emotions is becoming increasingly difficult. He’s _angry_ all the time and the hardest part is, he has to handle it all on his own.

His behavior of late has been erratic and unsettling, constantly trying to hide the fact that he’s lying. Sam and Dean can of course tell something is wrong, but they’ve stayed silent for now. They’re gifting him with the time to come clean on his own and Castiel desperately wants to hold up his end of the unspoken bargain.

He craves the subtle comfort of someone trying helping him, of someone wanting to save him. A nasty little part of his brain nags at him, hissing darkly that he doesn’t deserve those things.

Breaking old habits can be infuriating.

Adding to his turmoil are the severe pangs of guilt that strike whenever he thinks about how he’s forcing Jack to lie as well. Castiel hates the idea of the boy carrying around that kind of weight, he wants Jack to be honest and free. Jack deserves someone to lead by example for him.

 _Jack._ He’s home, alive and breathing.

Despite his sour mood, Castiel feels an indescribable warmth trickle down his spine every time he remembers that his son is safe. Because as miserable as he might be, Castiel regrets nothing. The decision to trade himself for Jack would play out the same way a thousand times over. He will always protect Jack.

Procrastinating, Castiel swallows this tremendous burden, leaving his insides cold and slithering like snakes. He proceeds to half-heartedly sift through the daily paper, searching for a hunt that might be appropriate for Jack to tag along on.

Sitting across the library table is Dean, brooding and sipping his coffee while browsing on his laptop. Castiel tries not to stare, fighting the urge to toss away the newspaper and gawk unashamedly at the brilliant man in front of him. He keeps peeking though, catching Dean’s eye and looking away immediately. Dean lets him have this, they never talk about it.

It’s only been a week since the deal and Castiel wants to scream. Everything about Dean, everything he represents or more appropriately _could_ represent, is mocking Castiel.

The supple curve of the hunter’s plump lips when he smirks at something amusing, the distinct way his skin crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles big and wide, the musical rumble of his voice when he says Castiel’s name, it’s all pure torture now. Not that the angel wasn’t always captivated by Dean, but now it’s so incredibly overwhelming Castiel doesn’t know if he can trudge through one more day like this. 

It used to be a choice, a stupid and stubborn choice not to tell Dean the truth about how he feels. The fear of rejection used to be horrifying enough, but now Castiel realizes the _real fear_ is having no choice at all. The Shadow stole that liberty away, leaving him trapped in one of the worst predicaments a soul could endure.

Forevermore, all he’s left with is _this._

Tiptoeing around Dean like their sexual tension isn’t perpetually on the verge of snapping. Or as if they’re not always one dangerous sentence away from confessing a secret that’s been seasoned with ten years of denial and bandaids.

Castiel is livid with himself, because if he’s being honest, he knows Dean is in love with him too. Any fool could see it.

Castiel missed his chance.

Because unless Castiel wants to die instantaneously and spend eternity floating through nothingness, he has to keep his mouth shut. And for the first time in a very long time Castiel truly wants to _live_.

He has briefly considered the fact that nothing at all will happen, it could all be a sick bluff. There’s no guarantee that that _monster_ is actually telling the truth. Then there’s also the possibility that being intimate with Dean will not bring him the ultimate happiness he thinks it will.

However, every time this circular argument makes a pass through his brain he eventually dismisses it. Because just imagining how Dean’s mouth would feel moving against his, millions of tiny kisses exploring each other until every surface of skin has been claimed is enough to convince Castiel otherwise. Or whenever he thinks about how Dean’s strong, work-worn hand would feel touching his cock, stroking him roughly yet still kissing him tenderly. Sometimes Castiel dares to dream even further, picturing the way Dean would look beneath him, how it would feel to be inside him.

Castiel fantasizes about simpler things as well, like holding hands in the car, the windows rolled down low while the breeze whips crisply through their hair. Or about cradling Dean in his arms every night while he drifts off to sleep, satisfied to breath him in and ward off any nightmares.

He _knows_ that would bring him true happiness.

He doesn’t quite recall how or when his life became this, how every fiber of his being starting revolving around this little family he cherishes so much here on Earth. Heaven is often an after thought, a distant group of relatives he can barley remember being a part of. Longevity means nothing, blood means nothing, what truly matters is finding a place you belong. And Castiel belongs here with the Winchesters, not lost in the Empty. Not after everything that’s happened in the past decade.

Dean slams his mug down, cutting through the stagnant air and pulling Castiel out of his own head.

“Hey, kid,” Dean’s voice cracks from lack of use.

Castiel looks up to find that Jack has joined them, his brow furrowed and he appears to be in minor distress. “Sam is going to take a shower now and he told me to ask you guys what we’re doing for dinner,” Jack announces.

The momentary blip of dread dissipates, Jack only wants food. Recently, Castiel’s paranoia makes him blow everything out of proportion. Impending doom and visions of the Shadow sneering at him fester relentlessly in the background, anxiety the angel’s newest and most annoying companion.

“I don’t know about you people, but I’m sick of burgers and pizza...let’s do burritos,” Dean chimes in.

“I’ll get my jacket!” Jack squeaks, bolting out of the room.

Dean turns to Castiel, “You cool with that?”

Castiel wants to reply that he’s not ‘cool’ with much of anything anymore, plus he doesn’t need to eat, but instead he says, “Sounds great.”

Dean stands up and walks towards him, somehow smothering Castiel from a good six feet away. “Cas...”

_No...please, none of that._

Castiel rises and replies automatically, “Dean.” His nerves are absolutely flayed and hands are discretely curling into fists as he tries to hold his composure together.

“Wanna come with us?” Dean is all charm, the radiant green of his eyes daring Castiel to say yes.

“No, you two have fun.” Castiel barely hears his own reply, his head swimming with _too much._ Dean is so close, so beautiful, so tempting.

Dean’s face falls, “Look man, I’ve been patient...I really have, but you gotta tell me what’s goin’ on.” He glances down at Castiel’s lips for less than a nanosecond before finishing with, “Just talk to me.”

Dean is crowding him and Castiel feels ridiculously like his heart is ricocheting violently around the walls of his rib cage. Dean has this way of wiggling into every crevice of Castiel’s core, his presence so large, so important Castiel is drawn to him like an addict.

“I can’t.”

It’s the two words Dean was hoping least to hear and Castiel hates hurting him, he doesn’t deserve it. Dean says nothing, instead he inches closer with sad, begging eyes. However, Castiel doesn’t retreat, he’s too enrapt by the way Dean is drinking him in, by the way he’s practically attempting to read his mind.

A panic stricken thought occurs to him. Is Dean about to kiss him? He’s awfully close, actually he’s definitely _much too close._ Castiel has studied Dean long enough to know that he’s feeling reckless and bold, lust engulfing the hunter’s entire aura. Poorly timed bravery might just end their whole charade right here, right now. And in this moment, the fog of desire clouding his better judgement, Castiel realizes he’s too far gone and weak to care.

The angel jumps slightly when he feels both of Dean’s welcoming palms cover over his own stress-ridden fists, caressing them like something precious. Dean coaxes Castiel’s knuckles open, his muscles unable to resist the soothing sensation. Castiel’s breath hitches when Dean twines their fingers together and moves so close that their noses bump. Dean slowly ebbs away the pain and suffering that’s been steadily corrupting Castiel, their unique bond working in overdrive to heal him.

He’s ready...

“Cas...you want this?” Dean whispers, low and private, only for them.

Castiel is about to reply when they both startle part. Jack reenters the room, blurting out, “Hey, can I drive again?”

There’s a shit eating grin spreading across his hopeful face as he makes his way over to meet Dean. Distracted by his tangled up coat, Jack remains oblivious to their previous position.

Castiel can’t decide if he’s immensely disappointed or relieved from this turn of events. Jack may have just saved his life.

Dean swallows a visible lump in his throat and scratches a fake itch at the back of his neck nervously. Stumbling far away from Castiel, Dean slings his arm around the boy, directing them to make their ascension and head for the door, “Told ya, that was a one time thing...”

“Well, then I pick the music,” Jack retorts a matter of factly.

Dean turns back to look down at Castiel from the top of the stairs, “Kid just doesn’t understand the rules.” Dean’s lighthearted voice is clearly forced. He further covers up _whatever_ just went on by ending the statement with a wink.

Castiel pretends to enjoy the moment, he pretends that his heart isn’t shredding itself into a million pieces as he smiles pathetically and waves goodbye.

Jack and Dean’s banter quickly fade as the lock clinks behind them, leaving Castiel in utter silence.

Nowhere to go and nothing to do, Castiel ultimately wanders back to his bedroom. He has no idea where this leaves the two of them. Will they talk about it later? Will Dean ignore the whole thing like it never happened? Castiel has zero answers to hundreds of questions and his patience is all used up.

Blood boiling, his rage is back worse than before, he hasn’t felt it like this in eons. He knows that if his Grace were at full power he’d be able to muster enough raw energy to summon an earthquake and leave Lebanon in ruins. However, the lightbulb from his bedside lamp sparks feebly, but in the end it doesn’t shatter. Castiel barks out a false laugh, even the lamp is mocking him.

Sweating, he sheds his trench coat and suit jacket, the normally beloved ensemble suffocating him. Neurotically pacing the room, Castiel feels no reprieve. Still constricted, he loosens his tie and rolls up his long shirt sleeves.

It doesn’t help.

The storm brewing inside him is going to win. He considers leaving The Bunker, but it’s too late. Right on cue, a loud, booming yell of frustration escapes from the depths of his lungs. Inelegant and guttural, he _roars_ , releasing all the pent up, ancient power within him. It’s riddled with agony and longing and true _pain_. Bone chilling and never ending this wrathful sound carries vibrations for miles.

Without conscious thought, Castiel is throwing and tearing at anything in his path, feeling more than seeing. He doesn’t know for how long this goes on, only that he’s now on the floor slumped up against the side of his bed with fresh blood coating his knuckles. The same knuckles Dean had just subdued into relaxation not ten minutes earlier.

The dust settles and Castiel’s hearing begins to return, the only reason he realizes this is because he wasn’t aware it had dulled in the first place. There’s footsteps, faint at first but soon they morph into long, clumsy strides that sound more like a run.

Sam whips around the corner, his lengthy hair is dripping wet and he’s wearing one of the Men of Letters robes.

“Cas?”

Castiel knows he must appear dazed, Sam has his serious worry face on, the one that’s reserved for real tragedies.

“I am...”

What is he? Okay? That’s a lie. _Another_ lie.

“Sorry,” is what he decides on.

Sam takes in the state of the bedroom, his worry turning to sadness like the latter never occurred. “What happened?”

Castiel joins Sam in observing his surroundings, it’s a disaster. His tall, solid wooden bookshelf has fallen, laying haphazardly on it’s side. The many books that used to occupy it are now littered all over the ground. The nightstand has tipped over and the lamp atop it smashed to bits. Castiel’s not too upset about that one, still feeling pretty bitter towards the lamp. His television was a victim as well, but luckily it landed on the carpeted part of the room so there might be hope for it. Worst and most regrettably, is the picture frame he keeps displayed on his dresser. It’s a group ‘selfie’, a term Castiel only recently learned and one that Dean would definitely playfully make fun of him for using. It depicts himself, Dean, Sam, Jack and Mary. It was a night that nothing special happened, but Castiel believes that’s what makes it so special.

Heart aching, Castiel internally vows to reframe that photograph as soon as possible.

Kicking some books out of the way, Sam shoves himself into the chaos of the room and sits down beside him.

Castiel figures he should probably answer him, “A lot happened.”

Sam doesn’t reply, he just waits for Castiel to continue. Embarrassed, Castiel sneaks a quick glance at Sam and is met with eyes that exude nothing but pure concern and empathy. Sam is the perfect listener.

“I made a deal...” Castiel cuts right to it, “...with the Empty.”

Sam’s expression wavers like he’s about to get mad, but he stomps out the anger and stays calm. After allowing himself a brief pause to soak up this new information, Sam pieces everything together and finishes Castiel’s confession with, “You saved Jack.”

Castiel nods, a few tears welling behind his tired blue eyes. “I had to.”

“How long do you have?” Sam asks methodically, tucking a section of drenched hair behind his ears and wiping away some glistening water droplets leftover on his face and neck. 

“It’s not like that,” Castiel offers, dreading this next part. “The Shadow says it will only come for me when I finally allow myself to be happy.”

Sam pauses again, taking in the heaviness of this, the quietness crushing the pair of them.

Sam changes gears and springs into action, “Well at least that gives us something to work with, there’s no specific pressure for time...we just gotta find a loop hole.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Castiel counters, debating on how far to take this conversation. He trusts Sam as much as a person can possibly trust someone and he’s here _now,_ hanging on every word he says and willing to do anything to help.

“I’m in love with Dean.”

Sam’s eyebrows raise comically high when he replies, “Woah.”

Castiel scoffs lightly, “I honestly didn’t think you’d be that surprised.”

Sam _smiles,_ really smiles at him, “Oh, I’m not surprised...I guess I’m just shocked you actually said it.”

“So am I,” Castiel confirms bluntly.

There’s yet another lull as Sam ponders what to say next. However no amount of practice or planning could have prevented him from fumbling through, “And you think...that if you and Dean...ya know...that would be—umm—that would cause the Empty to take you?”

It’s the most painfully awkward conclusion that Castiel has ever heard, but it’s accurate all the same.

“Maybe. There’s no way to know anything. Something completely different could still trigger it...or nothing at all. And it’s just that, now...I don’t want to risk it...I don’t want to die, Sam. It’s different than before...Jack needs me and...I’m quite content here with you all.”

“Cas, you’re not gonna die. We’ll figure it out...I promise.” Sam looks devastated as he reassures him, adding, “Jack’s not the only one who needs you.”

Just hearing the words said aloud is enough to recharge him a fraction.

“Thank you.”

Castiel doesn’t need to say it and Sam certainly doesn’t need to hear it, but there is is, dangling between them anyway. Sam seizes the opportunity to lunge forward like some overgrown puppy, pulling Castiel into a lumbering bear hug. It’s uncoordinated due to the fact that they’re both sitting, but the imperfection of it only makes Castiel cling tighter.

An understanding is finally dawning on Castiel. Or maybe it’s simply an exhilarating rush of confidence, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.

Although unaware of any of the specifics, Sam and Dean are not going to let Castiel rot in the endless limbo of the universe. It’s so easy to put his faith in these men, to trust and believe them even when there’s no solid plan or a single issue has been solved. Because no matter what Castiel has done, whatever mess he’s wrapped up in, they’ll bring him back home.

Time and time again, they’ve saved each other and it’s time to accept the truth. This family is all they have and there’s no stopping until the peace they’re so fiercely seeking shines brightly down upon them.

_...and let the sun shine on your face, that’s when I’ll come._

That particular thought echoes sadistically inside his head. He wants to prove that vile creature wrong. And they will.

He’s going to survive this.

Letting go of Sam, seemingly random laughter bursts out of him, all the while a few stray tears still paint his cheeks. The juxtaposition of it must make him appear a little crazy, but Sam doesn’t mind, he’s laughing too.

“I’m sorry I ruined your shower,” Castiel sighs dramatically, giving Sam a half apologetic half kidding look.

Sam shrugs and chuckles, “Forget it...c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Castiel heaves himself off floor, wincing as he remembers the blood, now rather crusty and dried up.

Even if for some reason Dean doesn’t notice the condition of his abused hands or the state of his bedroom, there’s no hiding anymore. Come what may, they’ll face it together.

Castiel doesn’t feel magically ‘cured’. His anxiety, although temporarily quashed, still lingers faintly. On the upside, the feeling of hopelessness is dissolving, determination and willpower gradually taking it’s place.

Following Sam with a new pep in his step, Castiel breathes easier. It turns out he didn’t really miss his chance after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I needed a dripping wet, freshly showered Sammy wearing one of the dead guy robes, so that’s what you get. Sam and Cas are BROTP and I love their relationship. Always want more of it <3


End file.
